


Hunger

by o_WinterQueen_o



Series: (V: Psychological Terror) [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: (V: Psychological Terror), Gen, Gift Fic, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Isshin Kurosaki acts like a parent for once, Light Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, inspired by: heavenxpiercing & ivory-insanity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2018-12-20 20:52:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11929044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o_WinterQueen_o/pseuds/o_WinterQueen_o
Summary: Healing is a long and arduous process, but it's okay to ask for help along the way.





	1. Failure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PaleAutumn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleAutumn/gifts).



> Hey y'all, Kari here~ Back again with some more of my rp based fics.  
> This fic was made for a tumblr RP verse with my friend Ash called Psychological Terror, but it can be read stand-alone. Anyways, I hope you enjoy since the tags didn't scare you off. Long story short: Ash and I are terrible people.

     Ichigo looked longingly at the food laid out before him by the nurses-- rice and beef broth and applesauce-- it smelled heavenly, but he did not touch it. His hands stayed folded neatly in his lap as stared at it hungrily for a long while before biting his lip and turning away. He didn’t have permission to eat right now. He knew Shirosaki wasn’t too far away, last Ichigo had seen him, his dad was pulling him out into the hall, to talk about him probably.

     That was only a short while ago. They could walk back in at any minute. If his hollow came back and  saw signs that he’d eaten without permission… he didn’t want to consider the punishment that would incur.  So he laid still, hands folded across his lap as he gazed dully out the window, food completely untouched no matter how his stomach growled for it and his mouth watered at the scent. 

     By the time Isshin and Shirosaki returned, the food was cold. Ichigo’s hands were balled into fists, but his self control remained intact. He did not eat. 

     “Ichigo, aren’t you hungry? You didn’t eat anything.”

     His father’s question startled him. Turning away from the window, he glanced between his father and his hollow. He needed permission to answer that question. Yet Shirosaki seemed too sullen and angry to notice Ichigo’s questioning glances, so he stayed silent, eyes falling to stare at his lap.

     His stomach growled once more.

     “ _ Ichigo _ . I can tell you’re hungry, why didn’t you eat?” Isshin was at his bedside now, looking down at him with worry--- it was such an odd thing to see from his father of all people, who he was so used to seeing with ridiculous goofy grins or a brusque seriousness reserved only for life or death matters. Now however his father looked like an actual worried father. Harried and strained, but still kind and almost doting in nature.  “Is the food too rich for you to handle right now? It’s not upsetting your stomach or anything, is it?”

     Again, the young shinigami gave no response, save a quick glance up at Shirosaki for permission that he did not receive. 

     Catching his glance, his father turned to see what was causing his silence. Glaring at the hollow with narrowed eyes, he moved to stand in front of the hollow, arms crossed over his chest. “Shirosaki, why isn’t my son talking to me?” 

     The hollow glanced up at Isshin waspishly before turning his hard gaze upon Ichigo who immediately seemed to shrink under it. “Why aren’t you eating? You’re always complaining about being hungry aren’t you?”

     This time his answer was prompt, for he was expected to answer Shiro’s questions right away, even if his answer came out low and hesitant. He could feel it, he did something wrong again, didn’t he? “I-I don’t have permission to eat…”

     Shirosaki rolled his eyes irritably, as if he could not believe he heard something so stupid as that some from his Shinigami’s mouth. There was shock upon his father’s face, then rage as he seemed to realize just what Ichigo meant by that. Yet before he could act on that rage, the hollow spoke again.

     “Tch, yeah, whatever. Go ahead and eat, talk, I don't particularly give a fuck at the moment.” Shirosaki waved his hand dismissively and turned away as if he were completely unconcerned though Ichigo feel a sense of satisfaction though the connection he shared with him. He was pleased that his teachings were still in place even without the control.

Eyes widening, he looked between the food and Shiro as if he were expecting the other to change his mind. He could really eat this? The hollow remained with his back towards the teen even as he continued to glance between him and his supposed meal in his disbelief. His father ended his dilemma, pushing the rolling little tray table up closer to him with an imploring look.

     Ichigo pressed his lips together, shaking hands reaching for the spoon for his broth. Once in hand, he glanced over at Shiro once more.

     Nothing.

     Carefully he dipped the spoon into the cold broth, intending to raise it to his mouth, for he could no longer bear the idea of waiting for anymore approval.  The broth however, never made it to his mouth.

     His hand shook.

     The broth spilled.

**_Fuck_**.

     A wave of sorrow and frustration washed over him as he bit his lip in an attempt not to show his discontent. It was fine. It was fine. He would just try again. 

     And again.

     And again.

     Each attempt, his hand shook worse than before, and after each failure, the discontent in his heart swelled even greater. How pathetic. 

     Fine. No broth. He still had his rice.  Unsteady hands moved instead to the chopsticks on the tray, desperately attempting to grasp them even though his hands were shaking so badly at this point  he doubted that even if he could hold them, that he would be able to keep hold of the rice. Nonetheless, he tried. 

     He tried.

     He tried.

     He tried.

     Hunger rose up once more in his concave belly, making itself known with another loud cry, begging for food that would not come. His lips wobbled as he stared down at the food, half tempted to start trying to eat the rice with his fingers just so he could get something in his stomach. No--- he would not reduce himself to that. Not with Shirosaki right there in the room with him. There to mock him for his pathetic weakness. For his utter desperation for something as meager as food. For his inability to hold himself together long enough to even eat. What a miserable excuse for a Shinigami. What a ucking embarassment. He couldn’t do that. 

     He’d rather starve.

     Letting the chopsticks fall to the tray once more, Ichigo pressed his lips together tightly, hanging his head in shame as he attempted to hold back the tears of frustration pooling in his eyes. He really was pitiful, wasn’t he?


	2. A Helping Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every story has more than one side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! This is Kari with a fresh baked batch of angst~ Ash says she liked it, so I hope y'all will too!

A warm hand settled carefully on his back, rubbing slow soothing circles in an attempt to comfort the obviously distraught teen. Really, Isshin generally did not allow himself to be this soft, but when his children were in distress, he would make an exception. Right now, with everything the boy had been forced to endure, softness was probably for the best anyways, lest he be mistaken for the one who had dealt the teen such suffering. This notion was only further cemented by the helpless look of misery on Ichigo's face when he looked up to face Isshin. "It's okay Ichigo, it's okay. You're allowed to need help."

Moving to perch at the edge of his son's hospital bed, Isshin picked the chopsticks up off the tray where they'd fallen. He took up a bit of rice, holding it up before his son's mouth. Even as the teen's face flushed with shame and embarrassment for his inability to eat on his own, the elder Kurosaki remained steadfast. "C'mon Ichigo." he prodded the teen's lips once with the utensils.

Ducking his head forward slightly so his bangs obscured his face, the teen took the proffered bite. Despite his shame, Ichigo was quick to swallow the first morsel and take the next. The rice was cold and bland and slightly hardened from being left out too long, but Ichigo couldn't care less about the flavor at that point. He was so relieved to have something in his stomach other than bile or blood, it was probably better that Isshin was helping him eat. Otherwise, he would have gorged himself much too quickly on the rice and choked or made himself sick.

Setting the rice bowl down, much to Ichigo's disappointment as his stomach growled hungrily once more, his father picked up a cup of water with a straw to hold to his lips. The teen hadn't realized how thirsty he was until that moment. Taking a long sip from the straw, he glanced up cautiously at his hollow from beneath his bangs.

The teen nearly choked. He hadn't been expecting the other to be staring right at him.

"Yer feeding him now?" the hollow spat. "How pathetic. What, is he so fucking fragile he can't hold a couple of sticks on his own now? "

Ichigo flinched, eyes falling to stare at his lap where his hands rested, still shaking even though he was not trying to use them.

"He's not fragile Shirosaki," Isshin's voice was flat and cold when he spoke. "He wouldn't have been able to survive all that utter hell you put him through if he was, and you know that. That little mind-control stunt you pulled caused dozens of problems besides the obvious mental trauma. This here is a direct result of nerve damage that impaired his fine motor skills mixed with the long term fatigue and anxiety, all caused by your little mind games."

* * *

The hollow snarled at the accusation, but otherwise remained silent though internally he was seething.

The list just kept getting longer it seemed. Ruptured organs, heart problems, anxiety, malnutrition, sleep deprivation, nerve damage fatigue, trauma this, trauma that, on and on and on Ichigo's father and the Quincy doctor would go. Always another thing to add to that list of their, to accuse him of doing.

It was pathetic. Worse- all this coddling they were harping on his King was just undoing all his hard work. Couldn't they tell they were just letting him fall back on all those weaknesses Shirosaki had painstakingly rid Ichigo of? He'd forced the Shinigami to learn to operate on only a few hours of sleep at a time, to go for days at a time without it at points. Now they were pumping him full of chemicals to make him sleep for nearly half the day! He'd gotten Ichigo to eat only once a day, and then only when he'd earned a meal, now they had tubes stuck in him to 'fix' the results of his 'starvation'. He'd trained him for hours on end every single day for months now, but he wasn't allowed to leave that godforsaken hospital bed any more.

Yet, the worst part of all of it was how he was letting them do this.

Shirosaki was standing idly by, letting them undo all his hard work.

Because he couldn't get that image out of his head.

Ichigo, clutching at his abdomen and crying every time he tried to move. Crying. Sure, he made his King cry sometimes with the nightmare he forced him to endure in the early days to make his mind stronger, but that was different. Those nightmares were made to seem as real as possible. They were made to push all his limits and realize each and every one of Ichigo's fears.

That day though… Ichigo was crying in pain.

Even when Shirosaki pushed him to all his physical limits, forced him to endure pain after pain over and over again, and get back up to train some more- even through all of that- Ichigo never cried. Screamed. Begged. Bitched. Yelled. But he never cried. His body was too strong for that. His pain tolerance was too high for that.

On that day though, he couldn't force Ichigo to stand, even with the mind control…. He literally had to pull the teen out of bed, but when he let go, Ichigo crumpled to the floor in a heap. Shirosaki remembered ordering him to get up already and kicking him in the stomach only for the teen to begin bawling.

"Sh-Shiro please please stop… make it stop!"

Ichigo had already been hysteric with pain and exertion and fever at that point…

"Pain… heat… hot…. It's too hot… cooking… cooking me… DAD! Hurts… hurts hurts… too much. PLEASE DAD! I can't- caN'T, HELP! Burning bursting burning- SHIRO PLEASE-!"

Shirosaki hadn't known what to do then… Ichigo had been too far gone to be coherent… He had to get Isshin then… He didn't know what was wrong with Ichigo, but it wasn't anything he could fix with regeneration, and that scared him. His host, his shinigami, his wielder was crying on the floor, unable to move on his own, and the Zanpakuto couldn't do anything about it.

But Isshin could… The fucking Shinigami seemed to know exactly what was wrong, just by touching Ichigo, by listening to his strange babbling.

Now they were here with him being forced to remain manifested by some device the annoying blond Shinigami Shopkeeper had slapped on him, and his Shinigami bedridden by his father's and the Quincy Doctor's decree because, apparently, the Zanpakuto's training was breaking his wielder. The hollow didn't want to believe it, but the Doctors were insistent. They'd showed him charts and comparisons between Ichigo's physical conditions and a normal human's and a dying human's…

The fact Ichigo's charts looked closer to the dying person's was alarming… Assuming they weren't lying. And that really just pissed him off! He was supposed to making him stronger! Why the fuck wasn't it working? How was him removing all those damned weaknesses somehow killing his Shinigami?

It was frustrating as all hell.

* * *

Isshin had turned away from the hollow by this point, returning his attention to his son who looked to be having trouble keeping his meal down.

"Ichigo, are you alright?"

"Y-Yeah…" Closing his eyes, the teen took a few deep breaths. Maybe he had somehow eaten too fast… "'m sorry… for all the trouble..."

"Stop apologising Ichigo." his father sighed, running a hand through the teenager's hair. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"But-" Isshin cut him off with a stern glare.

"Enough. You aren't at fault for any of this."

Ichigo nodded mutely as if in agreement even though the look on his face clearly showed that he wasn't convinced. He should have fought harder… tried harder… done more so this wouldn't have gotten to this point… so his family and friends wouldn't have to deal with all this bullshit… Yet he didn't argue. They wouldn't listen to him anyways, so convinced that he'd done everything he could…

A hand brushed through his hair, interrupting his thoughts. Ichigo flinched away, breath hitching for an instant as his vision unfocused. He swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut, as he tried to ward off the feeling threatening to overwhelm him. The feeling of nails scraping against his scalp, running down his neck, wrapping around his throat-

Snapping back to reality, he realized it was only his father. His father trying to comfort him. "S-Sorry dad…"

Isshin patted the teen's shoulder. "It's alright." He knew he wouldn't be able to get Ichigo to break the habit of apologising just yet. The cuts were too deep… too fresh… to break him of that. "Do you think you can manage some broth right now? Or was the rice too much?"

Ichigo bit his lip. He'd only eaten about half the rice, but he felt full- fuller than he should be from such a small amount. Still, the broth sounded good… "M-Maybe… a little…?"

Isshin nodded, picking up the soup spoon this time. Dipping the spoon in the broth, the elder Kurosaki made to lift it towards his son's mouth when a chilled hand grabbed his wrist.

"Let me do that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please review~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading~ Please Review!~


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